


you should see me in a crown

by gruumpy_cat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Community: HPFT, Death Eaters, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Origin Story, Politics, Romance, Rough Sex, Smut, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gruumpy_cat/pseuds/gruumpy_cat
Summary: Rome wasn't built in a day.But it burned in one.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	1. bite my tongue, bide my time

War is brewing. And in the ashes of war, in the roaring depth of wizardkind’s despair and fear, in the thunderstorm raging all around us, there is only one thing on my mind while the wheel turns and the pieces are being moved.  _ Power _ .

If only the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black hadn’t been reduced to _ this _ .

“I sold the manor,” uncle Orion says, his deep voice reverberating from his seat at the head of the long ebony table. A heavy silence descends upon the dimly lit dining room of Grimmauld Place with its stifling dark emerald curtains and the eternally grim chandelier, its writhing snake branches adorned with too few black candles hanging above us. It’s difficult to discern everyone’s reactions, but Andromeda’s sharp intake of breath on my right is reminiscent of a useless scream into the void.

I flick my cigarette, letting the ash fall on the antique table, earning myself a glare from aunt Walburga, her fifth glass of wine precariously whirling in her hand.

A guffaw comes from somewhere in the middle of the table, loud and boisterous, entirely out of place in this damned room. “Did you? I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

Orion stands up, strands of his dark hair falling handsomely into his cold black eyes. He leans on the table, a menacing grin appearing on his face. “ _ That _ is because your opinion on the matter is of no consequence, Alphard.”

“It’s my father’s house,” uncle Alphard says in a dangerously low voice, looking up at Orion with disgust. “It’s  _ our _ house,” he continues, nodding towards me and my sisters, as if expecting one of us to support him. I don’t know why he bothers because he _ really _ should know better. But, Alphard had always had a touch too much of the Black wildness in him.

And while in Bellatrix, it manifests in the bored look she gives him through her heavy-lidded eyes, playing with her wand and _ probably _ thinking about the ten best ways to torture Muggles, and though ultimately she will always go back to her trademark  _ Cruciatus _ , it’s a fun mental exercise, Alphard is a different breed, an idealistic one. If he doesn’t play his cards right, he might just find himself on the receiving end of one of Bella’s curses.

Andromeda, on the other hand, is clenching her fists, and I  _ know  _ she’s been thinking about the unfortunate implications of this sudden development ever since the words came out of Orion’s mouth. Probably planning something equally reckless and stupid.

And I know better than to speak my mind  _ now _ . To bite my tongue and bide my time has been a lesson great uncle Arcturus has been drilling into me since the tender age of thirteen. No, the Black sisters are of no help to Alphard.

Orion starts pacing, arms crossed behind his back, his grey suit rumpled, as if he slept in it. Unusual. I avert my eyes when he passes near, focusing on the small burn I’ve caused on the table. He stops behind his wife, staring at Alphard.

“Your father… You mean that  _ creature _ who turned your attic into an opium den?” Orion snorts and exchanges a glance with Walburga, who doesn’t really seem as if she’s paying any attention to anything besides her rapidly disappearing wine. “Do you think Pollux cares about  _ where _ he’s smoking and fucking whores?”

I mentally roll my eyes, but keep my face blank. Orion is not wrong on this account. Grandad Pollux has interesting, if expensive, habits. It seems that the Noble House of Black has a predilection towards madness and addiction, not necessarily exclusive to one another.

Alphard opens his mouth to speak, but Orion interrupts him, fingers twisting the big, golden ring with our crest on his right index finger. “And  _ yours _ ? I’m still paying Cygnus’ gambling debts while he and Druella are off gallivanting around bloody Russia spending even more gold. This,” he gestures around the room, looking each of us in the eye, “is  _ not _ a democracy. Walburga and I are gracious enough to let you stay here.”

“You’re also fucking  _ gracious _ enough that most of that gold will go to fucking Tom Riddle,” a gruff voice says and great uncle Arcturus, his grey hair slicked back and aged face frowning, puts his wand on the table. It’s an unspoken threat, but Orion doesn’t seem to notice. “You never were that bright,  _ boy _ .” 

“Father, please, Riddle has the right ideas, someone has to rid us of that Muggle and Mudblood filth...”

“If you think that Tom Riddle gives a fuck about blood purity in any other capacity than the excuse it gives him to rally fanatics to his supposed cause, then you are disgustingly deluded,” I mutter under my breath while the two of them get into a back and forth, snuffing out my cigarette on the table. “Riddle only wants  _ power _ .” I’m lucky that nobody hears me, but uncle Arcturus is looking at me with his shrewd grey eyes and I know he’s read my lips. He winks at me.

“Enough of this,” Arcturus says in a commanding voice, gold sparks flying from his wand, and even Walburga seems shaken out of her drunken stupor. “What’s done is done, but Orion… This affair was unwise.”

Everyone knows this is the end of our little family discussion, which, in reality, was no discussion at all, and Bellatrix is the first to leave, followed closely by Andromeda. Orion helps Walburga up while she unsuccessfully tries to shove him away and they look almost comical. Except when I remember our current predicament. Alphard glares at me, probably thinking I should’ve stepped in, but I ignore him and he theatrically leaves, dropping a glass on the cold stone floor for good measure, the glass breaking into a hundred sharp little pieces. And it seems that it won’t be long before House of Black follows suit.

I sit in silence as they all leave and uncle Arcturus gets up from his place and sits down next to me. With a wave of his wand the heavy wooden doors shut themselves with a loud thud, another wave and they’re locked. “Narcissa,” he says and I raise my eyebrows, knowing what he wants me to say.

“Orion has to go,” I declare without skipping a beat.

“Indeed.”

* * *

I pull my coat tighter around myself in the chilly London air, the darkness of Highgate Cemetery masking my sudden appearance. The almost full moon illuminates the overgrown path before me, the cryptic landscape’s decay one of romance, rather than decrepitude and menace. Still, my wand is drawn and I carefully listen for any sounds bar the ones of nature.

As I walk up the familiar path towards the catacombs, gravel crunches under my boots with each step. Visiting our family tomb is not among my favourite pastimes, but it’s doubtless that this little clandestine rendezvous in the middle of the night is not even going to make the list of the most unsavoury things I’ll have to do by the time this is all over. At least the tomb has ample protections, if the need arises. Though I’m quite certain it won’t.

Coming up the path, I feel the familiar magic surrounding our tomb. The ancient structure, with its neo-gothic spires, stone walls and pointed archways wrapped in ivy and wildflowers has long been neglected, but the dark sandstone building is a reminder of bygone grandeur. Memories of glory and power rot away in the imperfection that is the human mind, mere echoes of what once was, but all our failures and fuck-ups will never fade away. My eyes flick towards the faintly glowing inscription above the door.  _ Toujours Pur indeed _ . 

With my back against the cold, dark stone wall I light up a cigarette, crossing my arms across my chest, observing my surroundings. A fox crosses the path leading up to the tomb, skulking from under the shrubs, pausing only to spare me a glance before going on its way. And in that moment of temporary distraction, I hear the quietest of pops.

I take a drag from my cigarette and take in the appearance of the man before me. He’s roguishly handsome, wearing a long dragon-hide coat and his thick dark auburn hair is tousled, as if he were standing in storm winds just moments before he Apparated, and when our eyes lock, the grin on his face is almost feral. In a few short strides, he’s standing before me, temptingly close, the heat emanating from his body like a furnace. He always did run hot.

He leans down, dark blue eyes staring at me with a smirk. Taking another step towards me, one of his legs parts my thighs. He _ knows _ me, and if I didn’t have far more important business to take care off, I might’ve let him fuck me. After all, he’s so very good at it. His lips brush against my cold skin, hot touch infuriatingly tempting, but with a wave of my wand, a whip materialises around his neck, tightening its hold with each second. He lets out a choking sound, backing away from me slightly. It’s  _ my _ turn to smirk.

“Gideon,” I say, raising my eyebrows, the whip under my control as it holds steady, “I thought you would know better than to try and trap me against a wall”. I hold him there, watching as he realises there’s no point in struggling, and I stay silent while I smoke, enjoying the power I hold over him. Dropping the cigarette on the ground, I carefully snuff it out with my boot. Another wave of my wand and Gideon Prewett is free of his confines, a red mark around his neck. His breathing is strained and I can hear him whisper curses.

It takes Gideon a couple of moments to get his breathing back to normal and when he does, there’s another smirk plastered on his face. “You used to quite like being pressed up against me… Restrained, even…” he trails off, looking me up and down as he takes out a pack of Red Dragons, lighting one up with his wand.

“ _ Used to _ .”

Gideon shakes his head in annoyance and I know he’s thinking about the last time we were together. I half expect him to mention it, but he seems to realise it’s ancient history. He flashes me a grin, blowing out a smoke ring. “Nice bit of magic you’ve got there. New spell?”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “As if I would tell you.”

He stays silent for a while and we stand there watching each other, waiting for someone to speak first. It’s a matter of willpower and Gideon has always been impatient. It’s a small victory when he speaks again.

“So… If you didn’t ask me here to fuck you,  _ why _ did you? I took a risk coming here, you know that.”

“Good to know that a chance to fuck me is worth the risk,” I smile, but Gideon doesn’t seem amused. “Fine, I’ll get to the point. There have been some unfortunate developments today and Andromeda… I want her safe.”

Gideon raises his eyebrows, looking away from me. “Andromeda?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

“I know about Ted Tonks so there’s no need to pretend. She’s not as stealthy as she thinks she is and our uncle… If I know, he will soon find out now that we’ll all be living under one roof and Andromeda knows this. So. I want her safe,” I finish, taking a couple of steps towards him, and I put my hand on his own, knowing what the touch will do to him. His blue eyes look down at me, and I let him see me for a passing moment, but it’s enough for him.  _ Easy _ .

Gideon nods, taking another drag of his cigarette. “She’ll be safe, I promise.”

“And Sirius too. He has plans, maybe not now but...”

He frowns. “Of course, we don’t hurt children.”

“You do know that I will personally murder you if –”

“I know. Narcissa… What are you doing?” Gideon asks, a note of worry in his tone, and there’s the difference between the two of us. He has to ask and I wonder how it isn’t obvious.

I wink at him and bare my teeth in a smile. “Surviving.” There is no need to tell him the entire truth.

* * *

I Apparate to my ancestral home, the Black Manor sitting still and silent in this night of turmoil. The halls are eerie without the murmurs of portraits, the paintings already sent to Orion’s vault, like the rest of the heirlooms, centuries-old silver and gold, away from the greedy hands of goblins, unable to break their own laws. Gringotts is safe,  _ for now _ .

Quietly I climb the grand staircase, and as I near the upper floor, I know I was right. The grey wooden door of Andromeda’s room is ajar, the light from a candle spilling out into the dark hallway, illuminating the marble floor.

I push the door open to see my sister sitting on the floor, all her belongings neatly packed in her trunk. She sits there, staring at the fireplace where she used to keep pictures of the three of us. I glance at the trunk and see my face smiling from one of the framed photographs.

Andromeda looks up at me, her usually perfect makeup smudged around her eyes, her wand lying next to her.

“You’re leaving,” I say, and in the deathly silence of the manor, my voice doesn’t betray anything, my emotions buried deep inside.

“You knew I would after today,” Andromeda murmurs, “my little sister knows everything, doesn’t she?” She asks, her voice almost breaking.  _ Almost _ .

“You’re running off with a –”

“Don’t you dare call him that!” Andromeda says, anger colouring her pale features.

I shrug and lean against the fireplace. “I was going to say an Order member.”

“How do you know?” she asks, disbelief in her voice as she considers me. She mutters a spell and her trunk closes with a thud.

“I have my ways.”

“You’re not going to talk me out of it.”

I sigh and shake my head. My sister is half a Gryffindor and it shows. “I wasn’t going to. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

Andromeda rolls her eyes and stands up, brushing off invisible dirt from her cloak. “I doubt that. Even if it’s true, you always have an ulterior motive.”

“Well… I do play to win,” I say, smirking at her and she grins, the familiar mischief playing on her face.

“Narcissa, this isn’t one of your chess games.”

I menacingly cock an eyebrow at her. “Isn’t it?”


	2. wait 'til the world is mine

I silently stand in front of one of the large windows of the drawing room, overlooking the street in front of Grimmauld Place, watching the Muggles walking by with a determined purpose in the late December morning, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the beautiful house they occasionally stop to admire before continuing on with their business, most of them probably rushing to do their last minute shopping before Christmas. I almost wish that my cousins would stay at Hogwarts and not come back to this snake pit for the upcoming holidays.

The smoke from my burning cigarette twirls itself around me while Orion paces furiously across the room, Walburga yells at the house elf that dared ask if she would like anything, and Bella… I feel her livid gaze at the back of my neck, but I avoid looking her in the eyes because I know what I’ll see there. Madness. Bellatrix is vicious, unnerving, and  _ slightly _ unhinged. She is also my sister and so I will have to deal with her. But not right now. I sigh in silent frustration as I blow out smoke.

“How could you let this happen?” aunt Walburga hisses at Orion, her hands shaking with rage, one fist violently clutching at her skirts. “She,” Walburga spits out with pure venom in her voice, “was engaged! To Alistair Nott, no less. It’s a disgrace.”

Orion stops pacing and looks at her maliciously. “Was I supposed to put shackles on her? Maybe if _ you _ didn’t spend most of your time drunk, you’d have had a better hold over –”

“Don’t you dare blame this on me! They’ve been out of control for years, Cygnus let them do whatever the hell they wanted and now…” Walburga walks up to the tapestry wall, reverently running her hand along the golden thread before turning around to face us with eyes squinted in anger. “This one,” she points her wand at Bella, which, under normal circumstances is not the smartest move, but right now Bella seems to be too angry with our sister to react, and in any case we’re all used to Walburga spewing nonsense half the time, “is mixed up with Lestrange and Tom Riddle’s lot –”

And while I thought Bellatrix would control herself, she’s quick to draw her wand, a spell hitting Walburga cleanly in the chest, silencing her. Bella smirks wickedly and grins. “ _ Do _ shut the fuck up, auntie. All this histrionic outrage is wholly overdone”, she says in a bored voice, the anger from before seemingly faded, and I wonder if there’s any truth to her words, this sudden change of heart suspiciously quick for the sister I know, one who holds grudges for a lifetime.

“Good riddance, if you ask me. One less filthy blood traitor,” Bella continues, and there is something decidedly malevolent in her voice as she marches out the door, her heels clicking loudly against the stone floor.

“Bella!” uncle Orion half-heartedly shouts after her as he waves his wand to lift the spell from his red-faced wife, restraining her from going after my sister. “Calm down, come on –”

Walburga tears herself away from him, clutching her wand tightly. “Oh fuck off, Orion, this is all your fault! Letting the blood traitor run off with a mudblood, dishonouring us! I will not stand for it!” she shrieks, working herself up into a rage as she walks back toward the tapestry, brows furrowed as her eyes land on Andromeda.

With a vengeful smile she points her wand at the tapestry and with a flash of light the smell of burning fabric permeates my senses. Where once was Andromeda’s likeness, there is now only a black, charred mark.

Walburga inspects her spellwork with a mad glint in her eyes, licking her lips like a Kneazle after a particularly delicious meal. “There, that’s better,” she says in a normal voice, her change of mood abrupt as always. “Where is that damnable house elf? Kreacher!”

With a loud pop, Kreacher appears in the room, his uniform made of tea towels with the Black family crest impeccably clean. He bows deeply to Walburga. “Yes, mistress?”

“Bring me wine. Merlin knows I’ll need it before we go over to the Notts.”

Kreacher nods and disappears to the wine cellar underneath the house, knowing well which wine Walburga prefers. She walks over to me, looking me up and down with a critical eye, then turns back to Orion.

“It’s a good thing we still have a spare,” she says and Orion raises his eyebrows with a thoughtful smile as he looks over at me.

I light up another cigarette, my blood cold as ice, my pulse quickening with concealed anger. I  _ was _ expecting this, and yet… It’s an unfortunate development.

“Ah, yes, Narcissa, you will do what is best for the family,” Orion says and I have to restrain myself from murdering him there and then. Of course I will do what is best for the family. But what is best for the family is _ not _ what the halfwit thinks it is.

I blow out smoke in his face, enjoying the small coughing fit that ensues. “I think you are mistaking me for a broodmare.”

“I think you are mistaking yourself for someone whose opinion on these things matters, dear niece. You will do as I say or… Face the consequences.” An empty threat. Mostly.

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Really? Are you sure you want  _ another _ scandal?” I ask, aware that it’s a thin line I’m walking on right now. Orion might decide he wants to gamble.

He mockingly smirks at me. “I’m quite certain I have enough favour with… influential people that they’ll understand how the daughters of a gambler who ran off to Russia have been led astray through no fault of my own. We,” he cocks his head towards Walburga, who once again has a glass of wine in her hand, “will survive. You, on the other hand…”

Orion has decided to underestimate me, and it’s not a surprise. He is not used to a woman with power and so far I have played my part well. Silent and on the sidelines, just as I should be.

“I have other prospects.” I don’t. Not yet, at least, but Orion doesn’t know that. I throw my cigarette on the floor, stepping on it as I make my way towards the door.

“We’ll see about that,” Orion calls out after me but I don’t turn around and let the doors slam shut behind me.

Slowly, I climb the staircase, past the row of shrunken house elf heads, the sight a gruesome reminder of how madness can seep into tradition, all the way to the top floor where uncle Arcturus has his study room. I knock on his door once and it springs open after a couple of moments.

The room is airy, with full length windows facing the Muggle street outside, though more often than not, Arcturus charms them to display the rolling hills of Scotland or the harsh winter of Iceland, depending on his mood. Today, though, they’re not charmed and Arcturus sits in his leather armchair with a tumbler of Firewhisky in hand, seemingly lost in thought. A number of parchments are splayed on his desk and a quick glance tells me he’s been poring over our remaining property. There isn’t much left.

He looks at me as I sit down opposite him, the expression on his face serious.

“So. Andromeda is gone then?”

I nod, pouring myself a glass of the amber liquid, two ice cubes appearing in it with a flick of my wand. The combination of fire and ice is a welcome one after the exchange I just had. The drink warms me up from the inside, but the ice keeps my head cool.

“She is. And Orion wants me to marry Nott instead of her.”

Arcturus shakes his head in annoyance. “How unimaginative of him. But that was to be expected, was it not? And you should consider the possibility that Orion has the right idea for once.”

I snort and almost choke on the Firewhisky, burning my tongue slightly. “What? You think that me marrying Alistair Nott is a good idea? Besides his affiliation with Riddle, he is simply another in a long line of second-rate men thinking they’re more important than they actually are. He has no influence, no power. I think you’re losing your touch, old man,” I say with a smile, hoping he won’t take offence.

Arcturus waves his hand at me, rolling his eyes. “Alistair Nott is only good for swindling money out of. No. The idea is good, the man in question is not. But having a partner, an ally… It would be useful.”

The anger I kept restrained with Orion and Walburga rears its ugly head at his words. “You shouldn’t underestimate me, uncle. I don’t need a  _ man  _ to take over –”

“Oh don’t give me that, you’re well aware that I think you are perfectly capable of carrying out our plans on your own. But… Allies are never a bad idea. If you can get something out of it, even better.”

I fall silent at that and consider the idea. It isn’t something that hadn’t occurred to me, but up until now there was no need to take it seriously. And, to be more base about it, I haven’t yet met anyone who would be worth the effort.

We drink in companionable silence for a while, each with their own thoughts, and while I do try, I still find it hard to not think about my sister. Even though Gideon assured me of her safety and I have little doubt in her ability to defend herself, I’m doubtful she will stay on the sidelines. Thinking about my two sisters meeting in battle makes the hairs at the back of my neck rise. Neither of them understands the word balance.

“Assessing our dwindling fortune?” I ask Arcturus, more to distract myself than out of genuine curiosity. I have a pretty good idea of where we stand and it’s not pretty. 

He rearranges some of the parchments, fishing out one buried in the pile and hands it over to me. “I found out something interesting.”

I raise my eyebrows in interest, “Really?”

“He sold the manor to the French.” Arcturus summons a cigar and lights it up, puffing on it thoughtfully, an almost unnoticeable smile playing on his lips. He loves this game of being questioned and I indulge him.

“The French?”

There’s a glint in his grey eyes as he looks at me. “The Malfoys.”

“They’re hardly French, uncle…”

“Up for debate. Still, they’re a serpentine bunch. There are rumours that they’ve got Harold Minchum in their pocket. That his campaign is almost entirely financed by Malfoy money. And they have a lot of gold. It’s going to be difficult to win against Eugenia Jenkins, but… Not impossible.”

Though the campaign for the upcoming elections hadn’t officially started yet, it’s already painfully obvious that it will be a race between the current Minister and Minchum, someone who, from what I could tell, was at the very least, inoffensive to most of the Wizarding population, if a little bland. Not a bad choice for a marionette.

Uncle finishes his drink. “They’ve got a son, he went to Durmstrang so you wouldn’t know him. Apparently, he’s taken over most of the business. Very bright, though quite the bachelor. Has a weakness for pretty blondes.” Arcturus winks at me and I roll my eyes.

“You’re transparent. And  _ you _ don’t even know him!”

He shrugs, looking out the window. Snow has started to fall, fluffy white snowflakes doing their dance in the faint breeze, making the city around us look prettier than it actually is. “I know what I’ve been seeing these past three years. The Malfoys have been getting even richer and if the Minchum thing is true… They’ve been planning this. And that should tell you enough. I wouldn’t trust them but… Who in their right mind would trust anyone in this day and age?”

“So you want me to seduce Malfoy?” I smirk at him, draining my glass.

Arcturus fills up his glass. “Hm… I’m merely telling you what I know and suggesting that an alliance should be a thing to consider.”

I would have liked to consider my choices, though for that I’d need more than one option being Alistair Nott and the other a supposedly cunning Frenchman.

“An alliance built on mutual suspicion? Fantastic.”


End file.
